


Go Down Below, And Love

by snowhite_dahlia



Category: Cats - Andrew Lloyd Webber, Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats - T. S. Eliot
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, F/M, Grinding, Incest, Penis In Vagina Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Sibling Incest, Sibling Rivalry, Swearing, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:40:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25962235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowhite_dahlia/pseuds/snowhite_dahlia
Summary: Victoria can't sleep, so she goes out in search of a solution.
Relationships: Mr. Mistoffelees/Victoria (Cats)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 19





	Go Down Below, And Love

**Author's Note:**

> I've been struggling with some writer's block, so I tried to switch things up a bit and write something with a tight focus. This is the result! Please mind the tags - Mistoffelees and Victoria are explicitly described as siblings in this context, so please do not continue if that makes you uncomfortable.

Distantly, Victoria _swore_ she could hear a ticking clock. She hated ticking clocks—so persistent, like nails rapping on a table, small but insufferable—and she was certain there were none on this side of the house. And yet, the ticks persisted, as if they were mocking her and her inability to drift off to sleep.

_Tick, tick, tick._

For the hundredth time, she rolled onto her back, pulling a deep breath in through her nose, trying to settle into her pillow.

_Tick, tick, tick._

At last, her eyes opened in defeat. This was hopeless. She glanced at the digital clock on her nightstand: nearly two in the morning. It was time to give up on this pointless charade.

Frustrated, she pushed her fingers into her silvery hair at the temples, gripping, debating. She had a thought, an old, habitual thought, but—

Before she could talk herself out of anything, she was already flipping up the covers, silently pushing herself out of bed, and moving to her bedroom door. She cracked it open, listening for any signs of life—her uncle sometimes kept odd hours and there was always the risk of a stray member of the household staff bustling about. It was easy enough to lie, to pretend she was heading to the kitchen in search of a midnight snack. But, the ideal and preferable situation was not to be caught at all.

Satisfied with the silence, Victoria moved out into the hallway. Her feet padded along the plush runner, grateful for the barrier between them and the cool, polished stone of the floor. Silently she floated along, almost ghost-like in her snowy slip.

Just a few steps more and she arrived at her destination: a white door with brass handle, identical to her own. In childhood, she would’ve tentatively pulled at the handle, fingers curling around the edge of the door as light from the hallway cut a dim rectangle across the room. _Mistoffelees?_ she would’ve whispered hesitantly, waiting for her invitation.

But that was a long time ago, and she wasn’t a child anymore.

Instead, she deliberately crept into Mistoffelees’ bedroom, latching the door as softly as she could behind her. His outline was easy to trace: dark curls and black t-shirt stark against the white of his sheets. He, of course, was fast asleep, rarely falling victim to the bouts of insomnia that so often plagued his sister. She envied him for it.

Crossing the room, she delicately lifted the covers and slid beneath them. As her weight moved on to the mattress, she saw Mistoffelees stir, though his eyes remained closed. She settled in, her back against his chest, curling her body to fit against his.

“Can’t sleep?” came his voice at last, groggy as he came to.

“Obviously,” she answered quietly.

“And so,” he began, shifting a bit beneath the duvet, “your solution is to wake me up, too?”

She smiled to herself at the jab. “Do you want me to go?”

A pause. “No,” he finally replied, wrapping an arm around her. “But I have shit to do in the morning.”

They settled together, their movements and adjustments automatic from years of repetition. Behind her, Victoria felt Mistoffelees attempt to sink back towards sleep. She, however, continued to lay awake, blue eyes looking at Misto’s cluttered nightstand, at the minimalist art scattered on his walls, at the moon just visible through the window. In the darkened bedroom, they were perfectly still except for Misto’s thumb, tracing small circles against her bare shoulder.

Tentatively, she pressed her hips back, and in finding contact, began rocking them ever so gently against him. As she continued, she listened quietly over her shoulder, waiting for a sign of protest from her bed-mate, but none came. Eventually, she felt the grip of Misto’s hand on her shoulder tighten and so felt encouraged to re-double her efforts.

“Victoria,” she heard him whisper. Even through her hair, she could still feel the heat of his breath on the back of her neck.

She made an innocent hum of acknowledgement to her name but did not pause.

“ _Victoria_ ,” came another whisper, this time punctuated by his hand moving to her waist, a firm injunction against further attempts. “I thought we agreed we weren’t doing this anymore.”

That did still her. It was true, they had agreed some time ago to halt this particular aspect of their relationship after an uncomfortably close call one afternoon in the music room. But, they had also made such an agreement several times before and then had promptly _broken_ said agreement. It surprised Victoria that _this time_ should suddenly be so different. That is, unless—

She turned over in the bed, propping herself up on her forearm to look down at her brother’s face, as he rolled to his back. “Did you and Tugger get back together?”

Even in the dim light of the bedroom, she saw a flush surface along the bridge of Mistoffelees’ nose, his eyes cast away. “No, we’re still working things out. It’s—it’s complicated.”

Victoria nodded slowly. She’d made a decision a long time ago that she wouldn’t get in the way, if it came to that. She felt her heart clench. “Do you want me to go?” she asked again. This time she was prepared to comply.

And again, Mistoffelees paused.

“Fuck it,” he half-laughed-half sighed as he sat up and stripped off his shirt, tossing it to the end of the bed. “But I _do_ have shit to do tomorrow.”

The corner of Victoria’s mouth turned up into a smirk before pulling him into an unapologetic kiss. He reciprocated her passion, her hunger, hands running down the length of her spine before gripping her at the waist. As her fingers lost themselves in the jetblack of his hair, he nipped at her lower lip, a thin facade of playfulness meant to mask the craving she could so clearly feel emanating from him.

And indeed, Mistoffelees quickly gave up the pretense of propriety, leveraging his grasp on Victoria to flatten her to the bed. Snaking one arm beneath the curve of her neck and one arm across her abdomen, he pulled their bodies together tautly, her back once again pressed against his now bare chest. Victoria sighed and relaxed into him, reveling in the contact, in the release of control.

Their uncle had raised them—perhaps intentionally—in a constant state of competition, of semi-friendly rivalry, to push one another to the limits of their excellence. Anything she could do, Mistoffelees would strive to do a hair better, and vice versa. Certainly an unintended side effect of this constant tournament of ability was its manifestation in their more— _physical_ activities: the push and pull of dominance and submission. It was a thrilling reciprocity that she had yet to find with another partner.

A murmur of pleasure escaped Victoria as Mistoffelees’ lips intuitively found the sweet spot along the line of her shoulder, a hand busying itself as it slipped past the lace neckline of her negligee to cup her breast. She responded in earnest, heat and need building between her legs, and as she thrust back against him, she could feel her own desires mirrored in Misto’s body as well.

With one hand, Mistoffelees continued his attentions to her breast, massaging in gentle circles, as the other rucked up the hem of her nightgown to grasp at her panties. With little decorum, he wrenched them down off her hips, which earned him a quick swat at the hand from his sister.

“Be careful with those,” she admonished. “They’re La Perla.”

“Mm, I missed this, too, Victoria” teased Misto, before casually casting her underwear aside.

She had opened her mouth to launch a retort, but a soft moan had exited instead as Mistoffelees, most likely anticipating such action, had firmly gripped her inner thigh, prising her legs open.

“Victoria.” It was Misto’s turn to deliver admonishment. “You have to be quiet.”

She waved an (annoyed) hand of acknowledgement at him over her shoulder as she turned her face into the pillow, a desperate attempt to stifle her sounds of pleasure. Satisfied, Mistoffelees resumed his workings, stroking lazy lines along her thighs, making Victoria burn with want. She twisted a loose corner of the bedsheet in her hand, eyes screwed shut, her insides wound tight enough to snap. But she refused to give him the gratification of hearing her beg.

At long last he ceased his teasing, deliberately pressing two fingers between her labia and stroking through her warmth. Victoria tightened her grip on the sheet, hissing a breathy _fuck_ through her teeth as he began concentrating attention on her clit, rubbing in tight, delicious circles. With her free hand, she reached back to take a fistful of her brother’s hair, anchoring herself to him, desperately urging him on.

And Mistoffelees obliged, of course, intensifying his rhythm, driving Victoria straight to the edge until she crashed over it. Burying her mouth against the pillow, she felt her orgasm tear through her with unmitigated force, euphoric sensations spreading along her thighs. For all his bite, Misto was ever the attentive lover, easing her through with soothing, controlled strokes.

When she regained herself, Victoria turned over to face Mistoffelees, stealing eager kisses in between bouts of breath catching. Her hands found his shoulders, latching onto them before pushing him to his back as she swung a knee over his hips to straddle him. She had to admit, she always enjoyed this vantage point: looking down at Mistoffelees as he looked up at her, chest heaving, eyes glinting. It sent a shiver up her spine.

Bearing her weight down on him, she could feel the hard line of his erection through the thin fabric of his boxers. Beneath her, Mistoffelees held back a groan, encouraging Victoria to press on. She moved her hips slowly, rhythmically, a pace designed to punish. It was a delight to watch Misto lose himself to the sensation: head tilted back, eyes closed, lips parted. Delicately, she brushed her fingertips at the edge of his waistband.

“Hey,” came Misto’s voice, soft and breathy. “Be careful with those; they’re _Hermès_.” And he opened one eye to look at her, mouth pulling into a mischievous grin.

“Sweet Misto,” sighed Victoria, seizing his hands from where they had been gripping her thighs to pull them over his head, pinning him by the wrist to the headboard. She leaned close to his face, lifting herself off of him, severing the connection. “I’ve already gotten what I came here for and I have absolutely _zero_ guilt in leaving you unsatisfied. So,” and she punctuated her threat with a bite at his lip. “Play _nice_.”

They looked at each other through narrowed eyes for a moment until Misto at last lifted his head to kiss her, an unspoken apology. Contented, Victoria gave his wrists one final press before releasing him.

“This is nice, by the way,” commented Mistoffelees, fingering the hem of her pale slip as she settled back on to him. “New?”

“Yes,” she answered after a beat. She always undeniably and emphatically dressed for herself—even for something as unexceptional as sleeping—but she’d be lying if she said she didn’t enjoy his appreciation of her sartorial efforts. “I took Jemima shopping last weekend,” she explained casually.

He gave a little hum of approval, before sitting up, running his hands up her sides, rippling the silky fabric. “I like it.”

“Would you like it better crumpled up on the floor?” she ribbed, an eyebrow quirked suggestively. 

He chuckled. “No, leave it on. It looks good on you,” he replied, his teeth grazing her neck, his hands rounding under the curve of her ass.

Pressing her cheek into his hair, she inhaled deeply, breathing him in. Why was his scent always so intoxicating? Automatically, her body began stirring against him again, grinding down for contact. Misto responded, his movements a steady pulse to match hers, two hearts beating together in time.

Against her shoulder, she felt his breaths coming in heavy pants. “Tell me what you want, Mistoffelees,” she whispered into his ear.

“You, obviously.” He’d clearly intended it as another jab, but his voice was too ragged with want.

His arm came around her waist and suddenly she was on her back again, her brother hovering above her. He looked down at her, eyes hooded heavy with desire. Victoria made to reach for him, to pull him close, but he delicately caught her wrist, giving her pause.

“Are you still on your birth control?” he asked, voice steady.

She nodded. It was the only rule they never broke.

And just like that, he was in her arms, his lips crashing against hers, tongue pressing into her mouth. She felt him reach for his boxers and joined in the effort, almost clumsy in her eagerness. At last successful, he kicked them off, letting them join Victoria’s panties somewhere in the tangle of the sheets. 

“Are you ready?” he breathed against her lips, the head of his cock rubbing against her heat.

“ _Ah_ — yes,” she whispered, tears threatening to spring from the anticipation of it.

In one smooth motion, he pushed inside of her, filling Victoria with that deliciously sweet pressure. She bit back a cry of pleasure, her hands cupping his face, foreheads balanced against one another. Misto waited for a moment, letting her body warm to him. Then, with deliberate solicitude, he pulled back before rocking into her again, settling into a steady pace of long, even strokes.

Victoria pressed her head back into the pillow, allowing herself to be lost in a euphoric haze of sensations: the thin sheen of sweat on Mistoffelees’ skin, the weight of his hips against her thighs, the faded scent of his cologne. It had been so many years now since the advent of the more carnal aspect of their relationship, and yet, she found that every time was just as exquisite as their first. She had always expected some of the luster to eventually fade, but her experience only seemed to be the opposite. Something as innocuous as a quick smile or a brush of fingertips was often enough to make Victoria’s breath shudder.

“ _Fuck_ , you feel amazing,” he groaned against her ear, hooking his arm under her knee, pulling it towards her chest, deepening his thrusts.

A needy whimper escaped Victoria, the electric sensations in the pit of her stomach intensifying. She reached down to touch herself, and was immediately aware of just how close her next orgasm was. With vigor, she massaged at her clit, feeling her body inch closer and closer to that sweet release she so desperately craved.

And then suddenly, it was breaking over her, wave after wave of reverberating ecstasy. With a hand at the back of Misto’s neck, she pulled him into a wanton kiss, a pained effort to silence the cries that threatened to tear out of her. Ever attuned, Misto tempered his pace, gently easing her back down to earth. And when she had melted back into the pillow, sated and glowing, he quickened again, driving into her as he chased his own climax.

With an undignified moan, Mistoffelees buried himself inside of Victoria, hips stuttering as he came. When he finished, he slumped against her, his head rolling into the crook of her neck. Victoria closed her eyes, wrapping her arms tight around him, pulling him close. She swore she could feel his heart beating against her.

They were still for a while, recovering, basking. At last, Mistoffelees pressed a kiss to her cheek and delicately pulled away from her, sitting back and running his hand beneath the sheet, searching. Victoria smiled in spite of herself when he proudly produced her underwear, slipping them on her with all the care of Prince Charming fitting the glass slipper to Cinderella’s foot.

“Thanks,” she said wryly as he pulled on his boxers, her body already missing the weight of him.

“Anything for you, angel,” he replied, hovering above her on all fours to press another sweet kiss to her cheek, before collapsing by her side.

She tucked her lip between her teeth, looking at him through her eyelashes. “Can I stay for a bit?” she hazarded. 

As always, he paused. “Yes—just set my alarm.” 

Of course, Victoria was already unlocking his phone. In the back of her mind, she wondered if there was ever a future where she could stay in Misto’s bed till morning, kissing him awake as sunlight poured through the window—instead of silently creeping back to her cold room and empty bed in the pre-dawn light. She brushed at her eyebrow, swatting the thought away. 

For now, however, they were still together, and she would not let her mind drift away from this honeyed moment. She insisted this to herself as she moved into the inviting warmth of her brother’s arms.

“Think you’ll be able to sleep now?” mumbled Misto against her forehead.

“I suppose,” she teased. “But I’ll wake you if I have any troubles.” 

She felt him smile. “Good night, Victoria.” And then, with a rare tenderness, “I love you.”

“I know,” she whispered back, pressing closer. “I love you, too.” 

With little effort, Victoria drifted off to sleep.


End file.
